Overtime

Periodically at my super awesome job that I love, we have opportunities for overtime. Which is awesome. I love getting paid time and a half to do the same exact job. I LOVE IT! However, I can be a little bit overzealous and, frankly, over ambitious when it comes to agreeing to do overtime shifts. It usually goes like this:

– I am approached with an overtime opportunity at some future date.
– I, having been overcome with some strange amnesia to the last time this happened, happily agree to the overtime.
– I think, “pulling a sixteen hour shift will be fun! I’ll drink coffee, it will be relaxing. Sure, I’ll be tired, but I’ll be able to save that money for [grad school, car payments, savings, a boat]. This is going to be GREAT!”
– Time goes by, I’ve forgotten what I’ve agreed to do until the cursed time comes and I’m preparing to spend sixteen long, long hours. At work. In a row. Instead of sleeping.
– I do the overtime shift, spending the second EIGHT HOURS proverbially (and sometimes literally) banging my head on the wall, wondering why I would ever do this to myself. Did my past self hate me, and want me to be sad? I think to myself dark thoughts like “If I had a time machine, I would go back two weeks ago and kick myself right in the face so I am too injured to agree to such a stupid thing as OVERTIME.” Other dark thoughts include: “No amount of money or boats could possibly be worth this.” and “This must be a human rights violation. But who do you call if you commit a human rights violation against yourself? There’s no United Nations for making stupid decisions, Katelynn.”
– The end of my sixteen hour shift comes to a close, and I can literally taste my bed I’m so tired. And it tastes good. Like pillow-y, fabric-y dessert.
– I promise to myself that if anyone dares try to disrupt my sleep, I will ruin them. If my dog tries to keep me awake, I will release her into the wild. I become a crazy-eyed monster of a person who wishes harm on those who would dare disrupt her well-deserved slumber.
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